‘How many kick-backs am I supposed to take, Cas? What’s an acceptable number? First I’m “too serious and homely”. Then you fuck my brains out. Then you disappear. You ignored my calls, threatened to call the police. Then you’re back and then you fuck my heart out and this time we get engaged and then that turns out to be for the titillation and edification of your audience.’
Put like this it sounds bad.
‘You act like a psycho. How do I know that this latest declaration isn’t just another publicity stunt? How can I trust you?’
‘I just know you have it in you, Darren. Some people have and you are one of them.’
I concentrate on the slight cleft in his chin, and on the exact colour of his eyes. I note the way he moves his hands and the precise shape of his wristbone. I consume it all because there is a real possibility that I’ll never see any of it again. If he walks away I’ll live in a permanent eclipse. I look at the group of schoolchildren, who are all but splitting with laughter and jeering. ‘Can we go somewhere more private to discuss this?’ I hiss through clenched teeth.
‘What’s the bloody point, Cas? Our relationship is public property. Posh and Beckham have more privacy.’
I get the feeling I’m being tested, but I’m unsure of the nature of the exam. I certainly haven’t prepared. I navigate through with as much sincerity as I can. I am conscious that behind me there is a reconstruction of an earthquake. Every fifteen seconds the world shudders and cracks up. I wonder if Darren also thinks this is ironic.
‘I was very scared, Darren. Loving you so much left me petrified. Ecology is your thing, isn’t it? Piecing things together for the whole picture? Come on, Darren, think about it. Think about where I was coming from. I’d never seen any good come out of loving. My father didn’t love either my mother or me enough to stay. He left her, us, brokenhearted. My mother did her best but it wasn’t just the money that was limited after he disappeared. She reined in her affection, or at least her displays of it. She was awash with caution and distrust. I wasn’t taught to love. I was taught to be wary.’
‘Wary, Cas, not wicked!’
I ignore his interruption. ‘I know it’s not an excuse, only an explanation. Before I hit puberty, I was certain sex and love were incompatible. And then the endless stream of lovers seemed to confirm my theory. There was man after man who was prepared to betray me or use me to betray someone else. I didn’t want to be a victim. I wouldn’t allow myself to love. I didn’t even think I was capable of it.’
There’s lead stuck in the pit of my stomach, but at least I have Darren’s attention and that of every member of year four, l’école de Sprogsville. Where is this going? How can I tell him that loving him seemed like the worst thing that could have happened to me, but at the same time the best? That I miscalculated lots of things when I was young. Now I see that to have a figure like Barbie’s I’d have to have an eighteen-inch waist, a forty-inch leg and a head the size of a beach ball. Spaghetti hoops are not the world’s most exquisite culinary delight and Donny Osmond isn’t sexy.
Being made happy by love is an option.
I notice that the neck of my T-shirt is wet. I touch my face and discover that I am sobbing. Fat, globular tears are falling at such a rate that I’m soaked.
‘I’m sorry it took me so long to get here but I’ve learnt I am capable of loving. I did not set you up. I know how you feel about the programme. And for what it’s worth, I see now that you were right. You have to believe me, Darren.’ I wonder if there is any point in telling him that I’ve left TV6. I doubt it. He’ll probably believe the papers and think I was sacked. My face is aflame. My heart literally aches, a filthy agony. I try to read his thoughts. I know he’ll be trying to understand, but will he be able to? And even if he does, will he care? He leans back against a glass display case. The fact that he needs propping up